


The Black Mask and the Damask Rose

by IsobelSionisFalcone



Category: Black Mask - Fandom
Genre: Erotic Poetry, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsobelSionisFalcone/pseuds/IsobelSionisFalcone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem depicting the relationship of Black Mask (Roman Sionis) and his lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Mask and the Damask Rose

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a poem! I hope you enjoy it, and if there is anything about form/structure/language choices you don't understand, feel free to comment!

Drink.

That’s what always starts it.  
From there, a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss  
that tastes of whiskey and desire. Need  
fuels their passion. But only temporarily.

She hesitates.  
Every time.

Does she want this?

Of course she does.

It doesn’t matter, anyway  
because he wants her. He’s always considerate  
at first. He’ll never take her unless she  
wants him. With surprising tenderness

clothes shed like a snake’s skin.  
(She always feels naked with  
him, anyway. He knows, sees.)  
Hot, smooth flesh flushed scarlet with handprints.

He’s into that?

She’s not complaining.

There’s a fine line between love and hate,  
making love and sex,  
but he makes her question where that line is  
every time.

Faster, harder,  
he moans for her, on her,  
in her. She groans against him,  
with him, around him. But  
there’s no stopping them.

Not just yet.

Not until their desires are sated.

They’re so similar, yet so  
different. This means something,  
but it doesn’t. They feel,  
yet they don’t feel.

What does he do to her?

She doesn’t know.

She’ll never know. Just as  
he’ll never be satisfied  
thinking that she doesn’t  
care, that she doesn’t

love him.

He can’t help it.

He has to know. He has to  
hear her tell him he is  
wanted. Needed. Loved.

Desired.

He tells her the same

at the peak of their sport,  
knowing no more than they  
did before. But they are at  
least assured in their knowledge.

What are they doing?

They don’t know.

Or do they? Taking comfort  
from each other because they  
cannot receive it any other way.  
They have known each other for

an eternity.

Falling in and out

of love, but always loving  
each other, never quite  
knowing how to say it  
in any other way.

They grew up in the same

hell.

Wanting for nothing, not  
having anything. No soft  
voice of relief in the cold  
moon to chase the wolves away.

Afterwards, they lie

side by side

gentle fingers coaxing  
shivers as they navigate  
soft skin, provoking idle giggles  
and wistful sighs of

short-lived joy.

There’s nothing else to it.

The Black Mask and Damask Rose  
are at their finest when true sex shows.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
